Cherries
by Javawolf
Summary: Missing scenes: Set during 'Harm's Way' Spike boards a boat set for Europe, content to never see Los Angeles again. The decision to turn back is a hard one to make, especially when it means Spike may have feelings for Angel. Suggestive themes. Slash?
1. Chapter 1

Cherries

By: Javawolf

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Author's Note: Right well, I've been thinking about this little story for some time now, and I believe I will continue it though I am not impressed with how the first chapter turned out. Spike's character seems a little too down-to-earth if you ask me. (Let's assume you did.) Ah well, the fact is I'm a mediocre writer, so I should expect no more than mediocre stories. In any case, please read and review. Flames are fine, criticism is appreciated. Thanks.

* * *

"Could use some wheels."

"Fine. Just not the viper."

"Viper it is then. Any message for Buffy?"

"Tell her you're a moron."

* * *

Spike ran their last argument through his head. He would miss him, Angel. No one was aloud to know he could actually tolerate the bastard, let alone admire him, though admire him he did. Even if only a minuscule part of him admitted it. Angel was his grandsire after all, and he had experience and wisdom. Well . . . experience. Anyway it didn't matter. That was finished now. Spike was leaving and nothing would stop him. Back home to Europe, the mother country he preferred to call it. Back to Buffy. Los Angeles was for wankers out to find themselves, not for a swank, attractive, brave, intelligent, sleek, funny, and possibly gay vampire like himself. Spike shook his head violently in hopes of dislodging the gay thought.

The night was warm with a cool breeze drifting from the water. Spike never much cared for the ocean. It was big and loud and wet, and he wasn't a terrific swimmer. But as he stood against a pillar beneath the pier, he began to wonder; what was down there? Down in the places no one's ever been? It was probable, he thought, that under the water there was a load of mud and plants and fish, but deeper than that there must be something more. Something awe-inspiring and poetic, yet excruciating; like the sun. All that meaning hidden deep inside something so seemingly simple. A terrifying beauty waited underneath the surface.

Spike called to the water for no reason, not with words but with shouts and notes. Hearing no reply he called again. This was again met with a comfortable silence. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and smiled to himself. _The ocean is a proud thing_, he thought. _It has every right to be._

Acceptance will be founded

On the ships that ever gleam

With hope that one has hounded

To see the moonlight's beam.

"Eeuuugggghhhhhhh . . ." Spike thought out loud, making a face at the water and sticking his tongue out. "Absolutely terrible." Bad poetry was something that Spike could not escape from. And it seemed that his love poems were especially bad, given that he was never a particularly flowery person. He was a bit of a poof for romance, true, but he couldn't get any of it onto paper no matter how hard he tried.

"Oi! You th're!"

Spike turned from the water pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing them over his chest. He was looking at a rather short, lumpy man with a carefully combed mustache. The man walked toward him now that he had Spike's attention.

"Forgimme me for shoudin'!" The man said in a very loud voice close to Spike's ear. "I tri'd callin' to you, but I didn't realize you were hearin' impaired!"

"I'm not hearing impaired." Spike assured the man, who made a confused little huff and backed away so he could see him. From his accent, Spike figured he must be European, or more likely Canadian.

"I was just thinking." He said.

"Thinkin' pretty hard, eh?" The man put his hands on his hips and studied the vampire, eyebrows raised. "Well, weren't you waitin' to get on th' ship?"

"Oh, sorry mate. Yeah, I ment to. Is it leaving?" Spike asked quickly, stowing the cigarette he was just about to light into his shirt pocket.

"In a few min'tes it'll be gone. Best get aboard." And with that the man waddled off to his vegetable stand at the foot of the long pier.

Spike gave one long sigh before climbing the ramp. Leaving behind him his worries, his problems ... and Angel ...


	2. Chapter 2

Cherries

By: Javawolf

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Author's Note. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot. I was given a real self-esteem boost by ShinodaBear. I'm so glad I've caught the interest of so many fellow writers!

Anyway, I wanted to say that I feel like making this a full length fic, meaning that Spike may be gone for longer than the episode "Harm's Way" would let on, in which case my setting is likely to be a bit off. I shall say it's a missing scene/alternate universe hybrid. My own design, mwa-ha-ha!

* * *

Spike watched with mixed feelings as the L.A. skyline dimmed into nothing more than countless flickering candles on the horizon. He spent several minutes on deck trying to guess which lights belonged to the building he'd come to know so well. In the end he decided not to dwell any longer on the fact he may never see Angel–or any of them again. And with that thought Spike had come full circle back to trying to find Wolfram & Hart's offices among the lights, which by this time had begun to merge with the sky, becoming lost among the stars.

"Excuse me..." Said a small voice. Spike turned away from his thoughts for a moment to give his attention to a young girl. She looked like something out of a story book, staring up at him all starry-eyed with her hands clasped in the front. A picture of innocence that Spike felt certain would prove to be otherwise.

"Well, hullo." He said with a smile. He had to fight the urge to laugh out loud at the girl's outfit. A red turtle-neck, followed by a pink and white striped sun dress, and under that she wore purple, wool stockings. She could not be any older than seven, but already showed the creativity most fashion designers of today would envy.

"Hi." She mumbled, shyly. Spike shuffled on his feet, feeling awkward. Where were this girl's parents? Were he on a strange boat with thirty to forty complete strangers, he would certainly not allow his child to run around unsupervised. Spike decided after some thought that he should help the girl find her family.

"Were are your parents, luv?" He asked gently, kneeling down to her eye level. He hadn't expected the child to lower her head with the sorrowed look she gave him, and immediately felt as though he had crossed over a very bad line. At a loss for what to do, he gave the girl a weak pat on the back, whispering soothing words to her as she tried to stop the tears that wouldn't spare her the embarrassment.

"I'm sorry..." Spike managed.

"No." Sniffed the girl. "It's my fault. Papa said we shouldn't cry. I sometimes do, but I'm really brave. That's what Papa says." She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her turtle-neck and smiled bashfully. "I'm going to Europe. Did you know that?"

Spike chuckled. "No, I didn't. Europe, eh?" He smiled. "Guess what?"

"What?" The girl asked with mild interest.

"I'm going to Europe too!" Spike watched the girl's face light up with these words, as though she were realizing a dream she'd always wished for.

"What's your name?" She asked him sweetly. Spike hesitated.

"My name is William." He concluded. "But you can call me Spike if you want."

The girl giggled.

"That's a funny name! Okay, Mr. Spike. You have to guess my name now. Guess what it is, guess my name!"

Spike blinked dumbly. "Uhmm...let's see. You look like a...Cindy? No. Okay, Sarah? Katherine? Emily? Virginia, it has to be Virginia! Ah, foiled again..."

As Spike randomly gave names fitting the child's first impression, the small girl positively bounced in her shoes, (Heels, actually. Probably her mother's.) absolutely fizzy with joy.

"...Anna, Marie, Lucy, Diane, Jane, Margaret, Cecile..."

"Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope!"

Spike sighed loudly and comically, which succeeded in throwing the child into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, I give up." He said. "What's your name, miss?"

The girl looked around playfully, supposedly checking the surrounding area for eavesdroppers, before saying in a low voice, "It's Ivy."

"IVY!" The vampire cried, bring his palm to his forehead. "Oh, I should've known. Of course it's Ivy, I see it now." He looked her up and down from her off-white heels, to her long brown curls. "Yes." He said. "Ivy. That's a very nice name."

Ivy beamed.

"Are you alone on the boat?" Spike tried again, not mentioning Ivy's parents this time.

"No." She said cheerfully. "I'm here with my Papa. My grandfather." She added at Spike's puzzled expression. "He has a house where we're going, and I'm going to live there with him. Are you from where he lives? Your voice sounds like his, a little."

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Yes." He said after a moment. "Yes, I suppose."

"Are we going to the same place?" Ivy asked hopefully. "You could live at our house, I bet Papa won't mind."

Spike smiled. "He might mind a little, he doesn't know me. And anyway, crumpet, I have to see someone. I have to go to her house, I'm sorry."

Ivy looked forlorn, but only for a brief moment. "Is she your wife?" She asked with a interested grin. "Do you have kids then?"

Spike couldn't hold it, he burst out laughing. "No, I don't have any little chippers of my own." He said after he'd gotten a grip on himself. "Wish I did, though. Be a right lot more interesting than being all by me lonesome all the time."

"But do you have a wife?"

"Nope." Spike shook his head.

"Is the lady your going to see, is she your girlfriend or what? Are you going to get married? Cause when you get married you can have kids. That what Papa says. But only after you're married, or it doesn't work."

Spike chuckled. "All old people say that, luv."

"Are you old?" She asked curiously. Spike considered the question.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"So you're not going to get married?"

"Old people can get married."

Ivy sighed, blowing a stray hair out of her face. "You're not making any sense!" She said, throwing her hands in the air, expressing her child like frustration.

"Well, it's a bit complicated." Spike grinned. "I don't have a wife." He paused. "I don't really have a girlfriend either. She's just–just a friend." The words Spike heard himself say sent shock waves coursing through him. If he didn't really love her, why was he on this bleeding boat, sailing farther and farther away from Angel?

"So you're old . . . " Ivy reviewed. "But old people _can_ get married, but you're not going to, because you don't want to marry your friend, but you want kids, 'cept you're old?"

Spike laughed. "Yeah, something to that effect." Ivy nodded with a look that said. 'I get it, because I'm grown up enough.'

"You should run along to bed, I think, pet. It must be past your bedtime."

"Come and meet my Papa!" Ivy squealed excitedly. "I'll go to bed, but only after you say hi to Papa!" She tugged the vampire's arm until he gave in and allowed her to lead him down the wooden floor of the boat deck. As hey made their way toward their destination Spike thought on what he had said about Buffy, and why he felt like he needed to return to L.A.


	3. Chapter 3

Cherries

By: Javawolf

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Author's Note: Oh, you guys are so friendly! I'm positively fizzy, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews, everyone. Especially Ricechex, ShinodaBear, The Bell and the Black Dragon, and SpikingJennsAngel! I love you guys!  
I noticed while checking my stats that I have made it on to 2 favorites lists! That's so nice, I simply can't contain my joy! You all mean so much to me, I intend to read each and every one of your stories, and return the kindness which you've showed me. Thank you.

By the way, I've recently seen The Phantom of the Opera for about the sixth time and have concluded that it's rather enjoyable. I would love to write a fanfiction on it, but I've only seen the movie. Would anyone be at all interested in co-authoring a story with me? Ideas or pick-me-ups would be fantastic as well. Please email me.

* * *

With Ivy pulling on his arm Spike found it difficult to concentrate on anything he was seeing, but tried nonetheless to take in everything and everyone on the ship. It was a small ship, and he was one of the only 30-odd people onboard. Some people were star-gazing at the bow, others were watching the dark water churn fiercely from behind the boat. And some simply looked about, exactly as Spike was, observing the people around them.

One man was with his dog, who sat obediently by his side as the man pondered his next move in a game of chess, which he seemed to be playing alone. Spike had no more time to wonder on the man's loneliness as he was jerked in another direction and his attention fell on a teenage boy carrying a battered backpack and a woman's purse. Spike was torn from his thoughts rather unceremoniously when Ivy decided again to take yet another route to wherever her Papa was hiding.

People passed hurriedly as Spike and Ivy quickly made their way through the hustle and bustle of sleepy passengers, finally coming to a halt outside the Captain's cabin.

"Uh...I think you took a wrong turn, luv. This is where the Captain stays." Ivy grinned.

"Of course it is, silly!" She pushed her weight against the door and stopped it with her toe, holding it open for Spike. "Go on, go in!"

* * *

Author's Note: (Again.) Ugh...I'm sorry guys, but this has not made any progress at all. I need time to think, so I'm putting up what I have, and retiring to my 'Thinking Chair'. I HAVE NOT GIVEN UP. I will continue, I just need a stroke of genius. Thank you for your patience.

By the way, my friend Sheila was over here reading my stuff, and she reviewed under my name, that's not me I swear.


	4. Chapter 4

Cherries

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: I'm so sorry, I never meant to be so long. This isn't an extremely long chapter either but I wanted to at least put something up for you guys. Again, I beg your forgiveness, don't be angry! My internet was down.

**Ricechex:** Good news! I have satellite television now! I'm trying to keep up with Buffy. Angel makes so much more sense when I'm watching Buffy...go figure! I think I came into the middle of season 7, but I'm catching on. Very slowly.

* * *

Spike looked around the small cabin with interest. There was a long window facing the bow on one side, with Ivy's drawings and other various works of art taped everywhere on it except for a small square at the center, where one could peek through and see the very tip of the bow.

"You need one more for this spot, luv. It's looking rather lonely." Spike grinned. Ivy bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, (Having just taken her heels off.) And nodded slowly with a look of importance.

"Well..." She drawled in a very bored voice, straightening her posture. "The inspiration for my final touch has yet to strike."

Spike raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

Ivy blushed and shrugged. "That's what Papa told me. He's an artist too. He taught me everything I know!"

Spike glanced at the papers stuck to the glass, sporting scribbles resembling dogs and giant rabbits of all colors.

"I can tell." He said with a smile. "Trained by the best." Ivy grinned ear to ear. "Where is your Papa, pet? Is he the captain?"

"He'll be back soon, and yeah! He's the caption, but he's tireding."

"Tired-ing? What's that, luv?"

"You know!" Ivy laughed. "When you don't wanna work anymore, so you just–"

"Retiring?" Spike interrupted. Ivy didn't seem to notice and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yup! He's gonna have a party and everything! Here on the boat! Are you coming?"

Ivy looked up at Spike with hopeful eyes. Spike thought of Angel, sitting alone in his office, probably being hassled by the others to sign this, kill that, the 'We're not evil, or anything.' speech being given to him repeatedly. Spike could just imagine the poor vampire sinking slowly under his desk and onto the floor. And there was nothing Spike could do about it. Were he there, he would consider that to be his cue to thoroughly piss Angel off, to the point where they yelled and threw things across the room at each other. Because only Spike knew how to make Angel feel better. Teary speeches do no bloody good at all.

"Spike!" Ivy tugged on his jacket impatiently. Spike smiled half-heartedly to the little girl.

"Of course I'm coming, luv. I've got nothing better to do, have I?" Ivy shrugged, obviously not understanding how anyone could possibly think of doing anything besides going to her Papa's party. Spike looked around.

"Well...Ivy, I don't know that your Papa's coming anytime soon." Ivy grabbed Spikes hand and pulled him almost double over as though she were afraid he would disappear.

"He'll be here! Just–"

"Ivy?"

Ivy spun around. "Papa!"

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah, well. Still stuck on that. I had a character for Papa, I really did! But see, my muse has gone on strike. It's not my fault, ask anyone! Even my poems and drawings are sliding. My muse's name is Blaise. You can boycott or petition for Blaise's return via the review button. She might be back tomorrow, next month. No telling with her. Again, I'm sorry I took so long. I'll get another chapter up soon...ish. Thanks. You guys are great. tear 


	5. Chapter 5

Cherries

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: Blaise returns! Yes, yes, yes. Next chapter. Right away.

* * *

"Ivy, who's this?" The older man eyed Spike with an immediate disliking. He didn't look like a sailor. One would have imagined the captain of a ship to be gruff, and hardy-looking. This man looked like what he was. A little girl's guardian. A loving grandfather. Spike understood at once why the man was retiring.

"I'm Spike, I'm sorry to just–"

"Well, Spike." The man answered with an obvious threat to his tone. "I'll ask you to kindly leave, and stay away from my grand-daughter."

"Papa!" Ivy gasped. "Don't be mean, Mr. Spike is my friend!"

"They all say that." He growled in return.

"Whoa, mate!" Spike raised his hands in defense. The old man glowered at that fact he hadn't gone yet. "I'm no angel–" Ivy notice her friend cringe, recovering quickly as though it didn't happen. "–but I'm no bloody pedophile!"

Ivy's Papa reddened with rage. "Don't you use that kind of careless language around my little girl! Leave!"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah all right ... easy, mate. I'm sorry, pet." He added at Ivy's teary gaze. The little girl held her chin up high, refusing to let anyone see how upset she was. She was a strong one. Through and through.

"Cheers." Spike said dryly as he opened the door, waving briefly to the man who looked as though he wanted nothing more than to strangle this rude intruder. The vampire gave one last look to Ivy, a look that begged her forgiveness, before leaving and letting her Papa slam the door shut behind him.

For a moment Spike stood there, seething, before starting down the dock at a quick pace, not knowing where he was going or why.

* * *

Jonathon sat there in the closet, absolutely miserable with himself. He had no clue what had possessed him to get on a boat to Europe. Lily was probably crying her little eyes out into mom's shirt, thinking him dead or something horrible like that. A wave of guilt, certainly not the last in a long line of waves, washed over him. Mom...this wasn't her fault. But he knew her. She would blame herself, and not marry that guy...Dick. Jonathon couldn't help but chuckle. He'd always thought that Dick had an especially fitting name.

Who cares if she chickened out of the marriage? Lily didn't need a father like that! Jonathon hadn't wanted him... The thought occurred to him suddenly, and wouldn't ease off.

He wanted to go home.

The door swung open suddenly, and Jonathon found himself in the shadow of a man in a dark coat. He didn't seem surprised to find a boy hiding in a closet, quite the opposite.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jonathon blinked.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" The man repeated slowly, making a face that said very clearly, 'don't-be-so-damned-stupid.'

"Uh..." Jonathon began to realize what an awkward situation he was in. "I guess so."

"Good, mind if I join you, then?" The man asked quickly, obviously feeling more than slightly embarrassed.

"Uh..."

"Oh thanks, mate." And with that the strange man sat down on the closet floor next to the boy and made sure to door was shut behind him.

"So." He said conversationally. "What's your big problem?"

Jonathon couldn't see a thing in the darkness, but could almost sense that the man with silently laughing at him.

"What do you want?" He said, feeling immediately that it was harsh. "What I mean is..." He tried again. "Why...how..."

"How'd I know you were squatting in a broom closet?" The man asked bluntly.

"Yeah." Jonathon sighed.

"Call it a sixth sense." Came a chuckle from the dark. Jonathon felt like he'd missed a joke, but laughed none the less.

"My mom's getting married." It came out in a rush before he could think it over. The man didn't respond so Jonathon continued. "To someone who... who doesn't like me."

"So you ran away." The man said knowingly. "Hoped the first ride to Far-Far-Away Land. Understandable. Don't feel guilty."

"How'd you–?"

"Kid, I can smell it." He replied, in all seriousness. "You shouldn't though."

"Huh?" Jonathon was all confused. Who was this guy?

"You shouldn't run, you shouldn't steal–"

Jonathon felt his muscles tense as his fingers tightened their grip on the purse he held in his hand.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, you seem like a nice bloke." The man continued at Jonathon's obvious discomfort. "Just... you should go home."

"I can't go home now, I'm on a friggin' boat to Europe!"

"Hey, me too there mate! As much as I'd like to go back..."

The man trailed off. Jonathon waited for him to continue, but he didn't seem like he was going to.

"Who are you?" He finally asked.

"The name's Spike." Jonathon somehow found the man's hand in the dark in took it in a friendly hand shake.

"Jonathon." He sat in silence for a moment, waiting to come up with the right thing to say, when a smile crept across his face.

"So...Spike." He said teasingly. "What's your big problem?"

Spike chuckled. "Are you going to get all touchy-feely, 'so how does that make you feel', on me?"

"No. I suck at that stuff, man. But you did it for me, so...what brings you to my humble closet?"

Spike considered his answer for a moment before saying softly, "I was in love..."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Cherries

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, my loyal friends, I feel like I know you all so well! Your opinion means so much to me, thank you.

I've seen other author's do a Q&A thing before each chapter, and it looks like fun, so I'm gonna give it a try. Ask any questions you want.

My Question: How old are my reviewers? I'm curious to know, pray tell.

Ricechex: Ivy's Papa, (who we'll know more about soon, I hope!) , is a grumpy old man. Between you and me, I don't like him either:P As for his dark past...I'm not telling! giggle

SpikingJennsAngel: I wasn't originally planning for Angel to be front stage, Cherries is based mostly on Spike. I was saving Angel's entrance until the end, but for you - maybe I'll bring him in. Not yet. Perhaps in the foreseeable future...

Kara: You're right, he was thinking of Angel when he said it. But does that necessarily mean he's accepted it? ;) Hmmm...

ShinodaBear: I want to take this moment to tell you how cute your pen name is. Love it. Ha, ha, ha! Dead fish! LOL! Oh, no worries, please. Feel free to rant as much as you want, I enjoy reading your reviews.

MarieP: He may make an appearance, we shall see.

raga2dope: Well, you certainly are enthusiastic! I'm going to try to update regularly, but if I rush myself the story will fall apart. It happened with one of my other stories, The Blue Room. Totally flopped because I rushed through it. I don't want to make that mistake again.

* * *

"And you fled the country? Dude, that's weird."

Spike nodded with quiet sadness. "Yes well...it was one of those _weird_ things that seem to keep happening to me."

"Was?"

"It's a thing of the past–hakuna matatah."

Jonathon blinked. "Wanna tell me about her?"

Spike sat puzzled for a moment before speaking. "Not really."

"Oh."

For one extremely awkward minute both of them sat in absolute silence, conversing without speaking. Spike saying how weird he felt being in a closet with a complete stranger, Jonathon replying that Spike must never have been to Pittsburgh.

"Well..." Jonathon yawned. "I should get to bed I guess."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "You actually bought a ticket?"

"Yeah." Jonathon replied defensively. "I have a room and everything."

"Who's money paid for it?"

At that point Jonathon stood and felt around in the dark for the doorknob. Upon finding it, he quickly opened the door, exited the cozy little closet and slammed the door behind him, leaving Spike alone in the dark feeling as though he was simply pissing everybody off that day. The thought occurred to him that he was always pissing everybody off, he'd just never cared before. This trip was turning out to be more frustration than it was worth.

_Only two more days_, he thought hopefully. But what would he do when he arrived in London? He'd thought more than once on visiting Paris before going to Buffy, though he didn't know what was possessing him to do that. But maybe he could take her out for dinner in Paris. Sure, it sounded sappy, but sappy romance is what Spike lived for. Apart from fast-moving motor vehicles, beer, and a good spur of violence from time to time.

And then what? He mused. Would he stay with her in Europe, or would they travel the world? Something in Spike's gut told him he'd be better off never traveling again. He'd been on this bleeding boat 6 hours and had succeeded in making enemies of the Captain _and_ an unstable, teenage criminal.

(At this point, the narrator would like to freeze-frame, allowing all to witness ShinodaBear entering the story briefly, and hitting the Captain over the head with a dead fish. Thank you, ShinodaBear. And now, back to the story.)

Spike reluctantly stood and exited the closet, taking a moment to observe someone being beaten with what looked like--a fish?...he couldn't really see. Then, when it seemed the assailant had been satisfied and the entertainment was over, Spike turned and made for the stairs seeking to find his cabin.

* * *

A/N: Painfully short, I know. I'm working on three different fics now, and I'm trying not to spread myself too thin. I'm not very happy with this chapter and I think it safer to wait until Blaise decides to start beating _me_ over the head with a fish. Maybe then I'll get some ideas. Not too long this time, I promise. (Unless something bad happens to my computer, which it probably will...) Sorry. Review anyway?

P.S. ShinodaBear, hope you don't mind...I just thought it was so funny!


	7. Chapter 7

Cherries

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers. I took the week off my other stories to give more attention to this one. I may continue doing a shift off, which means longer waits but better writing. It's completely up to the readers.

ShinodaBear: Well, I'm glad you weren't angry. I feared I might offend you somehow, but I was compelled to do it anyway. I wonder what kind of person that makes me? Hmm... Well, I'm glad you're still reading! "Now this, I didn't miss–cryptic poetry." Heh, heh! Oh, BTW, send me a postcard from Cloud 9!

Ricechex: I love brownies! Oh thank you! grin And a hug too? Wow! You sure know how to make a writer feel special. D hugs you back You're not so old, you know. In your prime! Be happy, eat some brownies!

Ducklips: Ah, yes. Cherries. Well, it was Spike's line in 'Harm's Way.' "You can't really top an exit like that." It's somewhat lame, but cherries was a sad attempt at simile. I'm planning on some line at the end of the story to bring light to it.

MarieP & SpikingJennsAngel: I have done it. It may not happen again for some time, it depends on Blaise's mood. For this, you may thank Ricechex and her fabulous brownies. They lift anyone's mood!

raga2dope: You remind me an awful lot of a friend of mine. Don't ask me why, I can't place it. But you do. Anyway, I'm excited to have you reading, and I hope the wait has been worth it!

* * *

These dark contemplations fill even an angel's heart.

None today, and none to stay; though even death won't part

An angel from his evil, a child from their game–

Because, you see, this misery fills all of them the same.

Spike sat on his cot with the small black book he tended to drag around everywhere in secret. With no one watching him, he felt a certain freedom with his poetry, and was able to release everything and anything that had been on his mind. His efforts were being rewarded with mediocrity, however, and his patience was waning.

He did in fact have a room mate, and as he scribbled another line into his notebook the young man turned over in his sleep. With a low grumble and a murmur of something involving Martha Stewart he fell again into what seemed to Spike, the casual observer, to be a fairly pleasant and comfortable sleep.

Wow. This was really bloody boring...

Everyone on the entire ship had to be asleep by now. Not that he got along particularly well with any of them, but harassing people could be entertaining if you keep doing it. With not even a single person to annoy, aggravate, or argue with he was at a loss for what to do. What he wouldn't do for a box of cheap beer and a pogo stick...

A fire burns within them, destroying from inside.

In nothing lue, nobody knew for everyone must hide

This innate force of feeling; a tainted world of peace.

Running in rain, hate stills the pain. His torture cannot cease.

Ugh...

He was only thinking. But his thoughts were telling him maybe he didn't need to be watching sappy soap operas so often. It was corrupting his mind.

Groaning with quiet boredom and frustration, Spike mused what Angel might be doing at that moment. He was probably thought to be sleeping. He'd mentioned switching to the daylight hours, what with having escaped the risk of being fried sunny-side up. But he wouldn't actually be sleeping. Spike knew better than to assume that. Angel never slept anymore.

Growing more and more restless, Spike began absent-mindedly tapping his foot against one of the posts at the foot of his bed. He repositioned himself so that his head lay on his pillow, which he pushed against the wall. He relaxed, allowing one leg to fall lazily off one side of the bed, and the other to find it's home against to post, where it tapped a beat softly to relieve tension.

THIS WAS SO BORING!

Wouldn't it be funny, Spike mused, if there were a book about him? Even simply a short story describing in detail his battle against boredom, with the readers slowly sinking deeper and deeper into their chairs, slipping into the same state. He might have felt sorry for them, if such a thing were to ever happen. But of course, the idea was nonsense. Though naturally, some things did tend to happen in his world that were pretty screwed up. Who knows?

An illustrated smile and a laugh that hides hard years.

True words are real for men to steal and twist them into tears.

* * *

_**Hello, this is your narrator speaking. It is at this point that our favorite vampire losses his patience and begins violently carving crude swears and other such things into his little black note book. I'm afraid I cannot detail what these choice phrases might be, as they are not consistent with this story's rating. As it is, he will continue his fuming for some time, so let us leave him to it and look in on another vampire whom we all know and love. Give it up for–Angel!**_

* * *

Angel sank into his couch with a sigh, glancing tentatively at the small glass container which held the warm pig's blood he occasionally sipped, but decided against it he turned his attention out the window. It was exactly the same as any other night. Fairly dark, sparkling with the thousands of lights that lit Los Angeles' skyline. It was beautiful. But it was still exactly the same as last night. Except last night Spike had been here to complain about the crappy town that was hidden underneath all the lights. He hadn't found it funny before, but looking back on the moment, Angel couldn't help but chuckle. Spike had a way with words, that was one point to him. He also knew how to get out and have a little fun once in a while. Chances were he was on some cruise ship now, winning mountains of cash playing blackjack at the high roller tables. Those saps would never see him coming.

Angel fell back against the pillow. God, was he bored.

Suddenly and without warning the phone rang, causing Angel to jump right out of the couch and onto the floor with a loud thump and a short grunt.

"Oh... so vampires can't fly." He grumbled as he quickly jumped back to his feet and ambled over to the telephone.

"What?" He didn't mean to snap, but the person on the other end didn't seem to care.

"How did I know you were awake?" Came Wesley's dry, criticizing voice. Angel could sense Wesley's eyes rolling.

"How can you know I didn't just get rudely awakened at..." Angel glanced at his watch. "Whoa. Why are _you_ awake?"

"I honestly don't know. I suppose my chemical balance is out of sync, probably due to dehydration or–"

"It's a simple question, Wesley."

There was an audible sigh on the other end. "I can't sleep."

"Sorry. So, why are you–"

"Yes, Angel, I was getting to that."

"So get to it."

"My, we're friendly this–well, morning, I suppose..."

"Wesley!"

"I–"

"No, Wesley–don't blow it!" Came another voice. Fred's voice.

"Wes, what's going on?" Angel growled, not bothering to mask the annoyance in his voice.

"I was put up to this, please understand it wasn't my–" There was a shuffling sound as Fred tore the phone from Wesley's hand, much to his protest from what Angel could make out.

"Okay, look–Angel?"

He sighed. "Yes, Fred?"

"Okay, well Wesley here was s'posta get to it slowly, but we all know he lacks certain undercover skills–"

"Hey!" Angel heard Wesley argue. "I fooled a gang of gun-toting psychopaths."

"Don't remind me. Anyway, Angel...we're all just a little concerned about you. You've been–we'll more taciturn than usual."

"Huh." Angel replied in an uninterested grunt.

"Don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"Can't you just be happy?"

"No, see, there's an issue with that." Angel sneered.

"Damn it, you know what I mean. Wes and I are up at Goodness-knows-when, because we're worried about you. And, oh! Lorne's just walked in–he's on the line, Lorne, say hi."

"Cheer up, Angel-cakes!" Lorne called into the telephone. Angel rolled his eyes.

"Really guys, this is touching; and I'm glad to know you care about me, but I'm fine."

"I've heard that line." Fred replied dryly. "Heck, I've _used_ that line–recently!"

"Fine, just–bother me tomorrow." And with that, he hung up, and slouched miserably to the shower. Hopefully after some relaxation he could get some sleep. Ha, ha... Fat chance.

* * *

Spike jotted down one final line into his notebook, which was taped and tattered, but otherwise functional. Glancing at his watch, and satisfied that the sun must be coming up and now was as good a time as any to catch some Z's, he kicked his shoes off his feet and made himself comfortable in the bed. As he fluffed the pillow up to his satisfaction the last line of his sorry poem rang echos in his mind.

An angel walks with broken wings, his head hung in his shame.

Because, you see, this misery fills all of them the same.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Cherries

By Javawolf

* * *

Author's Note: Wow. Holy Cow, I was out of commission there for a little bit huh? There's a lot going in my life right now. I'm not going to complain or vent to you, but I will say that I'm having a hard time lately, and chapters may continue to be spaced extremely far apart. I have not, however, given up. This story is so much fun to write and I just love you guys so much, I couldn't quit. I'm just going extremely slowly. Sorry guys. But, on a higher note. The next chapter of _Cherries! (About bloody time. (Grumble, grumble. (Don't you love parenthesis?)))_

ShinodaBear: Above Cloud 9? Hmm... I really don't know. I think I'd like to see it if there is a Cloud 10! Wouldn't that be cool? Well, thank you, I'm so glad you liked it!

Raga2Dope: Oh m-gosh, I'm SO sorry I took so long. You were so nice in your review, and all you asked was for a quick update, and I failed you. I beg you, forgive me? I dedicate this chapter to all those who are thoroughly pissed off at me.

Ricechex: Luckin' fovely? Wow. (Grin) You like my poem? Thanks! And, oh! _More_ brownies? I'm the most spoiled writer alive, and I have the **best** readers! Look, cookies too! Chocolate chip! (Hello, Shinoda. I'm there with you on Cloud 10!) You guys are so great!

* * *

Spike couldn't sleep. He didn't know whether this was due to the fact he didn't want to sleep, or simply because his new room mate insisted on playing the air guitar while listening to his tapes at 11am. Considering that in the real world this was nothing out of the ordinary, (besides the fact that this guy _still_ listened to cassettes.) Spike felt no need to complain, but he couldn't reasonably leave the safety of the cabin and sleep was necessary.

"Hey, mate, could you give me a little bit to get some shut-eye?"

"Huh?" Blinked the young man. He wasn't incredibly tall, but he was broad shouldered and muscular. He wore a brown leather coat and blue jeans, and his chestnut-brown hair was spiked rather carelessly so that he looked like a well dressed bum, and even from his cot Spike could smell stale beer on him. He turned down the volume on his tape player and looked quizzically at this strange white-haired man.

"I said–" Spike repeated with mild frustration. "Could you maybe give a guy a small bit of time to himself? You know, to get in his share of 'nighty-night?'"

The young man snorted. "It's noon. You're weird."

"Oh." Spike frowned, dumbstruck. It wasn't like he hadn't heard that line hundreds, or hell, thousands of times before. But even after 150 years he still hadn't come up with a curt remark.

His room mate sat lightly on his own cot, looking Spike up and down, studying him.

Spike sighed.

"Oh hell with it." He spat. "Who needs sleep anyway? You got any cards?"

Blink. "Cards?" The man repeated dumbly.

"Yes. Cards." Spike raised an eyebrow. "You're a clever duck aren't you?" The man scowled at him. Spike chuckled. "What's your name, mate?"

"Martha." He answered as he dug through his suitcase for something.

"Well, Martha, name's Spike."

"Dean." The man sighed.

"You got a last name, Dean?"

"Far as I know."

Spike waited, but Dean merely gave him a look that said, 'Neener, neener, neener.' Only in a more angry and sarcastic way...

"I'm going to call you 'Ducky." Spike sneered.

"The hell you are." Dean scoffed, throwing a deck of cards at the vampire. Caught off guard, Spike dodged the make-shift missile with a short grunt. His room mate gave a victorious smirk.

"Got any cash?" He asked, this time with a genuine smile. Spike stared at him incredulously.

"I don't even have any luggage. I had a couple Benjamins, but they've since been transformed into a boat ticket, see."

"Well, marbles ain't any fun unless you're playing for keeps." Dean shrugged. "Do you have _anything_?" Spike searched his pockets.

"Eighty-three cents in nickels and dimes, and ... " He fished through his coat. "A notebook, which you can't have." He added quickly at Dean's interested glance.

"That's a nice coat." Dean hinted. "Damn."

Spike shook his head, not liking where this was going.

"What say we play a friendly game of Texas hold 'em; your coat against my ..." Now Dean fished through his pockets and coat. "Two hundred bucks."

"Not a bloody _snowball's_ chance in hell!" Spike snatched his coat out of Dean's curious hands. Dean scoffed in reply. Then he began to bob his head with a child-like grin and flap his arms ridiculously.

"Bawk, bawk, baaaaawk!" He taunted.

* * *

Roughly ten minutes later, the two men sat staring each other blankly in the face, holding their cards up to their mouths; a black leather coat sitting neatly folded between them with $200 stuffed into the chest pocket.

"So ... Spike." Dean said as he turned over 2nd street. He said Spike's name slowly, as though trying wrap his ears around it and analyze it. "You, uh, got family?"

Spike shook his head. "Nah. Probably never will."

Dead nodded. "Yeah, I hear ya."

Spike looked up from his hand.

"You don't either, eh?"

Dean shrugged. "That depends on your definition of family. Not really."

Spike, getting the sense that this wasn't territory he should be crossing into, changed the subject.

"Where are you from?"

"Kansas, originally." Dean dealt 3rd street.

"Any particular reason you're crossing the drink?" Spike asked curiously. Dean blinked several times before answering.

"My aunt's sick in London, and I have to haul my ass over there to claim any money the stingy witch decided to donate to me. Probably nothing but what the hell, I gotta try. I could use the cash."

Spike frowned. "And yet you're betting everything you've got for a coat?" He said pointedly.

Dean merely shrugged, and Spike let it go.

4th street was dealt, and only seconds later, Dean was thrown to the ground. He grunted as Spike pushed him and held him down, pinning his arms down on either side of his head.

"I saw that!" Spike growled.

"Saw what!" Dean gasped, struggling to free himself under the vampire's weight. As if in reply, Spike dug into Dean's coat sleeve and pulled out an ace. He held it in Dean's face, shaking his head slowly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"Oh, look..." Dean chuckled shakily. "How'd that get there?"

Spike got off of his room mate and give him a moment catch his breath. He waited, staring intently at the man. After a minute Dean took the hint.

"Okay..." Dean sighed. "I'm a cheat. So sue me." He rolled his shoulders and neck until the silence was broken by a very loud crack. "You know," Dean persisted with arrogance. "You could've just given me a stern warning. You didn't have to tackle me, did you?"

"I've been wanting to hit you since I met you 30 minutes ago." Spike said cheerfully, much to Dean's irritation.

"Whatever, bitch. Let's play again. Fair and square."

"I win by default, Ducky." Spike sneered. Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but decided against it.

"Fine. At least buy me a beer." He insisted. Spike's expression softened.

"I can't."

Dean scoffed. "You just won $200 dollars! You can buy me a beer, dude."

"I – don't want to go outside. Sensitive skin." He added at Dean's puzzled an annoyed expression. "Sorry, mate."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly.

Spike sighed. He pulled a crisp hundred dollar bill out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dean.

"There. By yourself a drink, alright?" And with that Spike threw himself onto his cot. Dean eyed him for a moment, and then moved to retrieve something from his suitcase.

A moment later Spike was hissing in pain and fury. He felt the shift force itself onto him from the burn. Dean tossed the empty bottle of Holy Water and threw himself at Spike, a stake in his hand.

"I can't believe you fooled me this long." He laughed manically. "I'm onto you now."

* * *

Another Note: Okay, I have to explain. (Ahem) Those of you who are familiar with the new television show, _Supernatural_ may have already figured out that this Dean is that Dean. This story just became a crossover. (Shrugs. Sorry. False advertising.) I have several reasons for this, and they are as such.

1.) I'm lazy. I didn't feel like writing a new character, so I used one I already knew.

2.) I knew I wanted a demon hunter on the boat, for conflict, but I tried writing one and failed. I decided I needed someone new, not a Whedon-verse character; but also that I didn't want to take the time to write a new one. So again, laziness is my excuse.

3.) The man is damn sexy! I'm the kind of person who obsesses over everything, and right now I have Jensen Ackles on the brain. I couldn't help but write him in.

Now, also those who know the character and follow the show are shaking their heads at me, because my writing him in is so far off canon it's insulting. For this I have no excuse. But as I've already mentioned, this story is AU. It's _my_ world, and if I say Dean Winchester is going to Europe, he's going to Europe! So there. (Grin)

Now review and rejoice at the arrival of another chapter! Cyber-brownies all around!


	9. Chapter 9

Cherries

By Javawolf

* * *

Author's Note: I was asked about my little 'Ducky' joke, and I just wanted to say that that's all it is. A very bad joke. Spike called Dean a 'clever duck,' and it seemed appropriate that he be given an annoyingly humorous nickname.

Also, although I realize how much some of you would like Spike to kill Dean, there are many reasons that just can't happen. I will however, allow Spike to pummel him, how's that? (Grin)

* * *

"I'm on to you now." He sneered with a look of pure loathing. "I guess now I get to do some beating up on your sorry ass, huh? Make you think twice before hitting me." He laughed, a strangely sinister and bone chilling laugh for someone of his stature.

Spike buried whatever urge he felt to tear the little man limb from limb, and simply laughed back, much to the smaller man's irritation.

"What are you laughing at?" Dean growled. Spike shook his head somberly.

"Hello? I'm a vampire, you git."

Dean blinked, and in the next instant he was cowering on the cabin floor, looking up at his white-haired assailant, blood gushing from his nose. The sudden scent washed over Spike, but he choose to obey certain rules and _not_ kill the pipsqueak right then and there. Instead he reached a hand out and offered in to Dean in a truce.

Dean stared in shock.

Well, that was the primary reaction. Very soon after he was on his feet and charging a second time. Only with this effort, he had to his advantage a new surge of rage and adrenaline. Still, even compared to an exhausted and somewhat disheveled vampire, Dean was only human; and a drunk one at that. His attack was quickly and easily countered and he was shoved down onto his cot. Spike couldn't help but laugh again at him.

"What the bugger are you trying to do? Why the sudden kamikaze, Ducky?"

Dean wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve and glared up at the vampire. "Well I was _trying_ to kill you." He stated with bravado as he lifted himself slowly from the cot, rolled his neck until it snapped, and threw another punch. Spike reacted quickly by grabbing the bloody fist and returning with a forceful blow to Dean's jaw, nearly knocking him down.

"What do you want to do that for?" He asked casually, as though nothing had happened.

Dean stumbled back and stared at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" He coughed, swinging another fist in a pathetic attempt to win this ridiculous fight. He doubled over with pain as Spike's foot connected with his lower ribs.

"What? Are you some sort of masochist?" Spike asked curiously while he watched Dean on his knees, struggling for air.

"No, I'm just pissed off." He gasped. Spike approached him a second time, worried he may actually have broken one of Dean's ribs, when the little bugger finally got one on him. Just when Spike was offering his hand again to help, Dean threw all his weight into a low, spinning kick. Spike's feet were knocked out from under him and Dean stood over the vampire with a triumphant smirk.

"You little wipe!" Spike shouted, jumping back to his feet. Dean stared.

"That was cool." He stated dumbly, indicating the way Spike had leaped up from a spread-eagle position. Spike nodded.

"Yeah? Thanks." He flashed the man a brief smile before punching him in the face for the third time. Dean staggered backwards, caught off guard. He somewhat recovered himself, barely able to stand as he wiped his nose again on his jacket. (Which by this point was turning a nasty shade of red.)

"You don't give up, do you?" Spike chuckled at him. Dean merely scowled at him, spitting a mouthful of blood in his direction. Spike wasn't able to dodge the missile, and groaned loudly, wiping the substance off his coat. "Euugh... That's disgusting..."

Dean was readying himself for another attack when there was a soft knock on the door. He sighed loudly, and went to answer it.

Ivy, the poor girl, was greeted by this bloody mess of a man as the door swung slowly open. Spike grinned at her past Dean's shoulder and she hesitantly smiled back, continuing to glance uncertainly at Dean, who attempted what he probably thought was a friendly smile, and succeeded in making the child cringe.

"Ivy, luv." Spike said as sweetly as he could. "Close that door for just a minute, and I'll be right out."

"The hell you will!" Dean shouted, causing the girl to jump. "I'm not letting any damned vampire near a little girl!"

"Ivy, shut the door!" Spike shouted as Dean approached him.

The girl nodded, a frightened look on her face, and quickly shut the door, leaning against it to catch her breath. She couldn't decide if she wanted to wait like Mr. Spike said, or if she should run for dear life and hide under her bed.

Did that bloody, mean man say–

... _Vampire?

* * *

_

Inside the cabin, Dean was ranting about good versus evil, and missions and other squabble that Spike had heard on countless occasions from people just like him. Except most of them were afraid at the time, and that's what caused them to babble endlessly; probably in an attempt to prolong their life by distracting the person they saw as the enemy.

But this man... He wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he was furious. He stood there, shouting curses and bleeding all over everything, and for what? Spike wasn't listening to the speech, by now he had it memorized. No, he was just watching. Dean reminded him of someone.

Angel.

Except Angel wasn't generally this unstable. Dean was quite obviously drunk off his ass. But he possessed the familiar drive that Angel was rather known for. Better known to their enemies as the, 'mash first, ask questions when it's most convenient' policy.

Still, Angel wasn't human. A vampire, cursed with a soul, forced to do good in order to achieve redemption. This man... Barely 21 years old... What was he fighting for?

While Spike felt pity for the bleeding mess before him, he didn't have time to get into the whole soap-opera deal. He was forced to interrupt Dean's stirring speech.

"Look, Ducky–"

"God! Quit calling me that, it makes me sound like a male prostitute." He growled.

Spike glanced over the man's figure and was forced to shake the unclean thoughts out of his head, disgusted that he even admitted to thinking them.

"Uh...okay. Look, er, Dean."

"I'm looking, I'm looking." Came the aggravated grumble of a reply.

"Yeah, alright whatever. Er, thing of it is; I'm not evil, okay? And I can't explain it to you right now because I've got a terrified little girl waiting for me in the hall, and just so we're absolutely clear; I don't like you."

Dean scowled. Spike ignored him and continued speaking.

"I really don't, and I don't trust you as far as I can throw you... Although thanks to you, with my lack of sleep I shouldn't be throwing anybody... Which is not the point. Uh...we're was I mate, do you remember?"

Dean blinked. "Oh. Uh, yeah...you don't trust me."

"Right, thank you." Spike straightened up. "No, I don't!"

Dean nodded lazily. "I get that from a lot of people, you know? I mean, do I turn people off?"

Spike stared at him in utter disbelief. "You are a very difficult person to have a conversation with." _Like someone else I know?_

"Ugh...no." Spike sighed. "My point is, that I'm about to go talk to Ivy–" Dean narrowed his eyes just a little.

"Who, now?"

"Oh. The little girl. In the hall?"

"Oh, right." Then Dean snarled and squared his shoulders. "Oh, hey! No you're not, I thought we went over this!"

"I wasn't listening. Would you _shut up_, please!"

Dean scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

Spike sighed. "Thank you. Now. I'm leaving this cabin–don't talk!" Dean closed his mouth quickly and silently. "I'm leaving to talk to my friend, and I can't leave you here, so I have to do what I have to do."

Dean looked at him quizzically. He wasn't ready, he wasn't prepared; so when Spike hit him in the face as hard as he could, Dean hadn't had time to raise a hand in his defense. More blood oozed from the corner of his mouth as he slumped to the floor and lay still.

"Sorry, mate. I'll buy you that drink once this is all sorted out... Not that you need it..."

* * *

Roughly ten minutes later, Spike emerged from the confines of the tiny cabin and greeted the trembling child with a gentle smile.

"Hello, luv." He said. "What is it?"

"I just came to tell you that my Papa–" Ivy took in a shuddering breath. "Papa says that I have to apologize for him. Cause he's too embarrassed."

"Oh, well that's good."

"Uh-huh. So he's sorry, and he said to give you this." Ivy pulled a piece of paper from her coat pocket. Spike took it from her and examined it. It was a coupon for a free meal in the ship's restaurant.

"Well, that's uh... very thoughtful of him. Tell him I said thank you."

"I will." Ivy nodded slowly and turned to leave. Spike frowned.

"Wait! Wait, hold on." He cooed. "What is it, crumpet? Is something wrong?"

"That man... " Ivy said hesitantly. "He called you a–a vampire."

Spike's face blanched. Ivy lowered her eyes. "So it's true?"

Spike didn't know what to say. "Yes." He finally managed, his voice breaking. "Yes, it's true."

Ivy bowed her head somberly. Then she asked, "What's a vampire?"

Spike was so relieved that he burst out laughing. Ivy, at a loss for what to do, laughed along with him. The two laughed side by side in the dark, dank hallways of the ship, clutching at their sides. After a moment to catch his breath, Spike answered the little girl's question.

"Do you know baseball, pet? The sport?"

"Yup." Ivy grinned.

"Well, a vampire is a person who stands behind the batter and makes sure that the rules are being followed. Like if the batter misses, the vampire says 'Strike!' Understand?"

Ivy's eyes widened. "Oooooh! _That's _a vampire. I know who that is, one of my cousins is a vampire!"

An elderly woman passing by gave the girl a look. Ivy blushed and turned away to giggle into Spike's sleeve.

"I don't think she knows what a vampire is." Ivy whispered with a smile. "She doesn't know, but I do."

Spike smiled at her. "Hey can I look at your watch?"

"Oh, sure." Ivy beamed. She extended her arm so Spike could see the pink wrist band, the clock's face was in the shape of a ladybug. "If you push this button, it plays music. See?" She held her wrist in Spike's face and pushed the tiny pink button. In an extremely high pitch, the familiar tune of 'Mary had a Little Lamb' rang from the watch. Spike smiled to Ivy.

"That's nice, pet." He checked the time and sighed. 2:45

This was going to be a long day.

Ivy stirred, and made ready to leave. "I should go, Papa might be looking for me."

"Alright. Thanks for visiting me." Spike said. Ivy positively glowed from her brown curls to her high-heeled toes.

"You're welcome. Don't worry, I'll visit you again."

"Oh. Good, then."

"Bye." Ivy waved frantically before prancing down the hall and up the stairs to the deck.

Spike let his breath out. What could Angel be doing right now?

* * *

_Hello. Allow me to take your cloak._

_Waquin. Ackine nck (click) shun naconite._

"Whoa... Cake, Akoline Trio (click, click) pun kryptonite?"

_Incorrect pronunciation._

"Damn it..."

* * *

Angel was probably fighting some exciting new demon or saving a sexy damsel. His life was full of fantasy and the constant adrenaline rush. Spike didn't understand why Angel was always so damn sulky, he had it made!

* * *

"Joaquin Phoenix's aching neck, (click) shiny acorn bites?"

_Incorrect pronunciation._

"Oh, come on!"

* * *

Yep. He was cool. And Spike? Well...

He sighed again and walked back into the cabin he shared with Ducky the masochist.

Another day...

* * *

Review and I'll update next week. (Or try.) Promise.


	10. Chapter 10

Cherries

By Javawolf

* * *

Author's Note: Last week was tough, sorry the update is late. I had another wave of inspiration and a different story had latched on to my brain and wouldn't let me work on _anything_ else until it was finished. (Oy...) Thankfully, two weeks of none-stop typing and it's nearing completion, which means I can pay attention to some other neglected stories. .:applause, applause:. Sadly, _Cherries_ doesn't seem to be anywhere even close to finished. No, I shall torture you all a little bit longer. .:giggles maniacally:.

* * *

Finally, night had fallen. About bloody time, the writer of this fiction is getting tired of being cooped up in that freaking cabin! .:ahem:.

Spike hadn't decided if he needed to tie his room mate's wrists and ankles together. The sad little man seemed to be somewhat hot headed, and when he woke up he would not be pleased, much less willing to listen to the 'I'm Really Not Evil' speech. He'd been out cold for almost five hours straight, though Spike suspected this was due more to the level of alcohol the vampire could smell just _pouring_ off of Dean in waves, then it was Spike's (only necessary) spur of violence.

Ah, leave the wanker here. Spike thought to himself. Like he's gonna try again with the beating he took. With a nod, approving his own plan, Spike left the little cabin with a feeling of pride at having come to a decision on his own. It'd had taken him five hours to do so, so this was a big deal. Not because Spike was incredibly slow, but because the narrator is incredibly lazy and would love to skip five hours ahead if it means she can go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.

Slowly, Spike made his way up the stairs and out of the lower deck, onto the upper deck to greet glorious night. It didn't look as though anything had changed since the previous evening, except perhaps that now there were no glittering L.A. lights – only the dark water churning behind the ship. And it was colder. But the same people stalked along the wooden floor, the old man and his dog, Spike recognized Jonathon in the crowd. He didn't see Ivy, where _was _the child? Spike supposed she may have gone to bed already, though it was still pretty early.

He shook his head at himself. God he was pathetic, the only person on this bloody ship who could stand him was a five year-old. What did that say about him?

"Hey mate." Spike tried to smile friendly-like at the old man with the chess board. He was just sitting there, his dog at his side, staring absently at the game that didn't look like it had made any progress since last night. All the pieces were still in their places. The old man glanced up at him, a hopeful look on his face, only to be disappointed at what he saw and lower his gaze back to the chess board. He didn't respond to Spike greeting, so Spike assumed he hadn't heard.

"Er... Hullo. The name's Spike, can I challenge you to a game of chess?"

The old man didn't look up again, but now he spoke softly in a gruff voice. "No."

Spike was taken aback, cocking his head to the side. "Sorry?"

"I said no." A grunt.

"Well, bloody hell – are all you people warning each other about the crazed vampire pedophile in the black coat, or something? Must you all insist on scorning me, shouting at me or trying to kill me? What's _your_ gripe, pal?"

The man was unfazed by Spike protest, merely shaking his head sadly. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh." Spike mumbled, bowing his head with guilt. "Er... Never mind about the vampire pedophile bit then, would you mate?"

The man nodded, patting his dog on the head and continuing to stare intently at the chess board. After some thought, Spike decided not to leave.

"So, how long have you been waiting for this person?" He asked, having a seat in the chair opposite the old man and receiving a glare. The man cleared his throat suggestively, but Spike didn't show that he'd noticed. Seeing no alternative, the man answered solemnly.

"Fourteen years. Since Margie died..."

Spike nodded understandingly. He'd seen lots of death in his lifetime, sometimes it was easy to forget just how lonely that can make a man. "Well, would you mind a game of chess? If whoever you're waiting for comes back before we're finished, I'll forfeit and I'll even help you reset the board, eh? What do you say?"

The gentleman pondered the proposition for a moment, not looking away from Spike's sincere gaze, as though waiting for his eyes to betray a lie. They never did, and after a time he nodded.

"Alright, you're on young man. Let's see what you've got against sixty years of hard practice."

Spike smiled gently. "Yeah, well – well see then." The game began, Spike's move was quick and easy to make, while the elder man pondered his move with a bit more attention. Of this, Spike was appreciative. He wanted to talk to someone more than he wanted to play a game, while at the same time he did rather enjoy chess. It's a game for sophisticates, whom Spike emphatically considered himself to be, despite what his so-called friends may believe. "So, what's you're name, mate?"

"Sal." The man grunted, finally edging a piece away from his side of the chess board. Spike responded with another quickly made move, and asked another question, forcing casual conversation on Sal, who didn't seem much in the mood to talk.

"Who are you waiting for?" He asked lightly. Sal jerked his head up to meet eyes with Spike, and a hush moment passed before he spoke.

"I don't know. Someone to –" He lowered his gaze again to ponder his next move. "Someone to care about, the way I did Margie."

Spike nodded. He knew that feeling well, but by this point he was used to it. Angel probably had to deal with it too, his history being just as bloody, more so even. Pity neither of them were Oprah lovers, they could probably help each other out by sharing feelings and just talking. But Angel and Spike had never just talked. If they had problems that needed therapy they beat them out of each other and that was that. You don't share feelings... It too human.

"You got someone to care about?" Sal asked sadly, mumbling the words 'check mate' as Spike stared incredulously at the board...

"Uh... Yes but, it's not a good thing – how did you...?" He glanced up at the elder man before him with utter disbelief. Sal smiled slightly.

"Sixty years of practice goes a long way. Sorry, son. Now how about helping me reset this board, eh?" He grunted, gathering all his captured chess pieces from Spike's side of the table, and pushing Spike's pieces toward him, signaling that he was expected to set them up in their proper positions.

Spike grimaced, but the grimace eventually spread into a grin. So... there was something to be said for devotion...

"Best out of three?" He prompted. Sal nodded.

"You're on."


End file.
